Valentin held on desperately to the horn of the saddle. The horse beneath them charged forwards in the pitch black of the night. Gilles held the torch out in front of him to track the dirt road they wished to follow, warming the left side of Valentin’s face. Trees, rocks, and other landmarks would briefly emerge before sinking back into the inky blackness of the night. The overcast skies suffocated the view of the stars distant and sky spirits that appeared in the sky during Ortus’ slumber.
Valentin expected them to stop for the night when they reached the village of Aberrie. Instead, Gilles separated from their group and urged Marigold forward. The horse careened through the unseen countryside. Fortunately for the pair, the lands of d’Gauval were marked with open fields and slow rolling hills making the likelihood of encountering an unforeseen obstacle remote.
The torch danced and wavered from the tumultuous air caused by their speed. The world flickered in and out of existence for Valentin. The boy stared into the blackness with the dread that their pursuers would appear between the shudders of light. Cold air rushed over the boy’s body and he was immediately grateful for the new cloak that kept much of the cold of the night away from him.
“Uncle Gilles, how much further will we be going?” Valentin called out to his uncle, his voice fighting the whipping wind that passed his ears.
“We cannot be certain that they won’t begin their pursuit tonight,” Gilles replied. “We must put significant distance between us and Roucotte and hope that they lose track of us. We must ride until the torch dies and then some.”
A small campfire near a wagon came and went. Their intrigued faces quickly appeared and disappeared as Marigold rode past. Valentin wondered what the people sitting around it thought of the charging horse guided by a floundering flame. The thunder of hooves and a flicker of light and then nothing.
How much time had passed since they left Aberrie? The rhythmic sound of the hooves below him was lulling Valentin towards sleep. The boy hadn’t slept well the night before and his body was trying to reclaim the debt from the day before. He began to list to one side but caught himself. He couldn’t sleep here, not when his uncle was so determined to make more progress. He tried to refocus on the brief glimpses of scenery that passed by.
Tilled fields rolled on the sides of the road that then led to the lit hovels of the next village. Valentin could see flashes of faces looking through their window in response to the sudden sound before they disappeared far behind the horse. Hovels turned back into fields which in turn became wild fields robbed of the color by the impending cold season.
“How are you holding up, Valentin?” His uncle asked over his shoulder.
“I’m tired, but I can hold on for a while longer,” Valentin replied before he unintentionally yawned for emphasis.
“Tell me when you are at your limit. It would be a disaster if you fell off.”
“I will.” The boy was already at his limit but he didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want to burden his uncle beyond what he had already.
Like Valentin’s waning consciousness, the torch too had begun struggling to stay alight. Gilles slowed down the horse now that the light had dimmed to the point that visibility receded to just beyond Marigold’s snout. He directed the horse slightly off the side of the road and dismounted. He assisted the boy to the ground and tended to the horse.
The boy lay on the cool grass and sleep came to him quickly.
It felt that he had just closed his eyes when he felt that he was being shaken awake. His eyes jolted open and the light of Ortus had crept back over the land. The horse stood behind Gilles, grazing upon the abundance of wild grasses that surrounded her.
His uncle lifted the boy onto his feet and handed him some bread. The boy chewed gratefully on the food and chased away the dryness in his mouth with the water. Valentin still felt exhausted and his left shoulder felt sore. He shifted his body and wiped the freezing dew from his jacket.
“Sorry, Valentin, but we need to continue to grow distance. If we get slow our pace too early, it will be the end of us.”
Valentin nodded in understanding and was helped back on the horse.
Marigold set a measured pace under the light. The Auric Mountains to the west loomed larger and dominated the horizon. They slowly grew taller and taller until there was hardly any sky to be seen above them. It was said that if one could reach the summit of one of those peaks, then they would surely reach the higher planes. Of course, no one returned from such ventures to say whether or not it was true; the path was reported to be rife with hostile spirits.
They passed through another village. Many people were making their way to their fields to plant wheat for the next cycle. Villagers took to irrigation ditches with shovels to ensure they were at a proper depth for the warm months. The tall, white capped peaks became an impenetrable wall during the cold months and served as the water source for their agriculture in the warm months. They offered the pair mild interest before returning to their tasks.
“How far have we traveled, Uncle Gilles?”
“We are near the edge of Tiarna Lunoult’s realm,” remarked Gilles. “I believe we did a little over half a horse’s day last night. But we pushed Marigold hard to accomplish it. So we will take the morning easy before picking up the pace near zenith. I hope to reach the border of Cortel by tomorrow morning. It is crucial we reach the coastal Jerv Forests on the other side of the Auric Mountains if we wish to become untraceable.”
“But that’s the edge of the Strettia!” Valentin shouted in surprise.
“That’s right,” Gilles replied with a sly grin. “I suppose I didn’t tell you exactly where we would be meeting your protector. He has an estate that he retreats to every Faur to wait out the harsher cold of the inland. I have been there many times when I was younger, I think you will find it a pleasing place.”
“Who is this protector anyways?” There had been a lot of silent conversation between the three adults the previous night and Valentin had not followed everything.
“My old leader, Ferron Martelle,” Gilles answered. “His Armée du Corbeaux is one of the most renowned mercenary bands in the country. He may look intimidating upon first glance, but I promise that he’s a thoughtful and intelligent man.”
“And he’s as strong as a High Tiarna?”
“Well not in terms of economics or land or noble prestige. But there wouldn’t be a military force in the world that would make it out unscathed against him. I used to be part of that famous group,” Gilles answered with a fair amount of personal pride.
The boy’s eyes shimmered in wonder at this new information. He couldn’t believe that his uncle knew someone so strong. Every jostle of the road felt a little easier. Even his budding hunger could be set aside for a time.
Yet, despite his excitement towards meeting a great warrior, he could not ignore the danger that followed them. Nothing about what was happening made sense to him. This was meant to be a joyous day for the region, but, instead, he was essentially secreted out of his home to hide in the words for at least the season. This was not how it was meant to be. Even if stories of myth were said to be embellished, this was far too great a departure from expectation.
“Uncle Gilles,” Valentin began, uncertain as to ask his question.
“What is it that you want to say?” Gilles replied with a warm smile. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes giving him the appearance that he did not sleep at all the night before.
“While I’m glad that Ferron will look after us, what is going on?” Valentin asked. He had thought about how to narrow this question down but there were no suitable alternatives. The question was too encompassing. “I thought this was all supposed to be a good thing.”
His uncle leaned forwards and turned his face so they could look eye to eye. “It is true that this is an extremely auspicious event. There is likely only one Storm Heir born a cycle. You will one day be extremely powerful but, for now, you are but a boy. If someone wished to, they could use that unborn power for their own gains. It is not such an uncommon act for powerful people to employ powers of divination to seek out potential heirs. Roland and Tiarna Lunoult are both well connected enough to be aware of this sharp interest and what misfortunes can befall unclaimed Storm Heirs. And in your case, Valentin, they had reasonable proof that you were already seen in the blood pools or animal bones.”
“The missive?” Valentin asked, remembering back to the day of the Steward’s visit.
Gilles nodded.
“Then why didn’t High Tiarna d’Gauval know?”
“Using druidic practices to read future omens is an imprecise practice. The High Tiarna most likely knew something important would happen in his lands but not where. To get better information you’d have to make a contract with an Eastern Seer. There are not many talented seers this far west so it is a costly practice and not a good use of resources for most,” Gilles explained to Valentin, however, his nephew’s eyes spun from the influx of information.
The boy tilted his head, “How do you know all this, Uncle Gilles?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I used to travel the country and sometimes beyond in the employ of wealthy and powerful individuals. You hear a lot of interesting things. Especially if your leader is someone influential. There have been many stories over the decades about powerful children disappearing shortly after the Bloodstone Ceremony. I’m hoping that when we talk to Ferron he can give us better insight into what to do.”
“But who is after us right now?” Valentin asked.
Gilles began to chuckle as if he was releasing all the pent up stress of the past couple days. That small laughter unsettled Valentin with feelings of uncertainty. A couple tears trickled down his face before he wiped it away and returned to a stern expression.
“As ridiculous as it sounds, the Storm Sovereign is after us, Valentin,” Gilles admitted. “Herados Rilleon hunts for your blood. He has foreseen that you are helpless and wishes to prune you before you bloom.”
“The ruler of Strettia?” Valentin asked aloud. “Why?”
“That is something that even I cannot say with certainty,” Gilles admitted. “Thinking too hard on it will not save us.”
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Such concepts were still much too large for the boy and he was not truly processing the information that had been given to him. He understood who the Storm Sovereign was just as he understood the High Tiarnas and powerful warriors from histories and stories. However, these things were reserved as concepts within the boy’s mind. How can a person expect a child that has lived his entire life in a small corner of the world to comprehend the fullness of a situation such as this?
Why did they wish to kill him? Why him when other Storm Heirs live elsewhere?
It was the only thing that Valentin could think of while they continued down the countryside and the road climbed up from the shore to stand upon the rocky cliffs of the beaches near the mountains. Gulls and sea birds loudly squawked and attacked a school of fish in the bay. They pulled out the unfortunate creatures and carried them towards their inland nests.
After passing another, much smaller, village, the pair encountered a small wooden outpost with soldiers standing guard in front of it. They stood post with the sleepy eyes of men that would never be assailed. Their spears rested ineffectively on the fence behind them. Gilles gave a wave and one of the soldiers returned it. That outpost would mark the end of Lunoult’s realm. The familiar burgundy colors of Roucotte would give way to new tinctures.
Valentin didn’t realize just how far the influence of Roucotte reached. The boy had never left the immediate villages that surrounded the town and even those visits had been rare. He had some grand expectation that once he had left known ground the landscapes would have radically changed, but it was still the same grassy hills under the blaze of the same ball of fire. The lack of villages lent to more groves and small forests that accumulated under the watchful eye of the Auric Mountains.
The time of year meant that there would be few travelers or merchants on the roads, those that were lugging cargo were on their last journey before the deep colds came and made all the roads treacherous. This allowed Gilles to inspect the ones that they did encounter with a high amount of scrutiny.
“We won’t be seeing any villages until we reach the border of Cortal,” Gilles informed Valentin.
The horse trotted forwards. Gilles brushed her mane and cooed in the horse’s ear. Ortus was nearing its peak and, even through the cooler temperatures of the season, managed to bake down on Valentin’s furs. Gilles had been steadily increasing Marigold’s pace over the course of the morning and now they were traveling at a decent speed.
A rocky stream crossed the road in front of them and meandered towards the bay. Gilles stopped the horse and dismounted. “This is an ideal place to refill our waterskins and have a quick meal.”
The boy nodded and followed suit. He was grateful as his stomach had been gurgling incessantly since shortly after they passed the outpost. He was not accustomed to such small portions for his meals. While Gilles was rummaging through his bag, Valentin dipped his waterskin into the stream and the cold water lapped at his fingers. It was an unexpectedly chilling cold. He took a sip from the skin and he felt his throat freeze. He made a displeased face. He was not alone in his reaction. Marigold lapped at the stream water and whipped her head away in surprise at the temperature.
“It’s just some mountain water, Marigold. You should be grateful. It’s the most refreshing water you can get,” Gilles teased his steed. He rummaged through the provision sack and then sighed. “In our haste to leave, we forgot to request a cooking pot or a fire starter. This food is great, but much of it is much less pleasant raw.” He pulled out more bread and a large carrot and handed it to Valentin. “We will have to make do with this until we can buy some extra provisions.”
Valentin crunched into the carrot and tried to hide his disappointment. It would assuage his hunger for now.
“Fret not, Valentin, we aren’t in a desperate situation yet. Once we start eating worse than the horse is when we truly have to worry.”
Back onto the horse and back at speed. The pair closed in on the edge of the mountain range. It appeared that the final mountain sloped directly into the Bay. A sturdy forest of trees obfuscated the meeting point between rock and water. The surrounding environs appeared rockier and more densely packed than the familiar lands that they had left behind. Northwards, cliffs and uneven rock faces jutted out of the earth.
As there was no arable land in the immediate area, Valentin had not seen another person in hours. He wondered if anyone lived here.
“Who rules this area?” Valentin asked his uncle.
“There is a lineage of Gate Cantans who are honorary rulers of the area,” Gilles replied. “Technically, they are prominent officers that serve directly under the High Tiarna.”
By the evening, they entered the forest that bordered the mountain and the bay. Leaved trees littered the ground with their lost color and their roots curled and reached out of the ground. The road became hard and uneasy. Rocks protruded from the ground, adding more obstacles to navigate and making it far more difficult to travel at speed.
Gilles slowed Marigold and the horse lumbered over the uneven terrain. Ortus slipped behind the cover of the mountain and only dim light persisted to guide the travelers forward.
“We cannot pull the same trick that we did yesterday,” Gilles stated.
Valentin was relieved that he did not have to experience the blind dash two nights in a row. With the newfound shade, the temperature plummeted and the boy huddled deep into his cloak. From above her could hear squirrels scurry along the trunks of the trees and into homes nestled into the wood.
Once the forests got denser and the light from the sky was hidden by the foliage of the trees that surrounded them, Gilles stopped Marigold and secured her reins around one of the thinner trunks.
“Coming through at this time is both a blessing and a curse,” remarked Gilles who sat down next to the horse and leaned his back against the trunk. “There will be little to forage during this part of the cycle, but that also means that we won’t have to contend with predators prowling around us in the darkness.”
Valentin joined his uncle at the foot of the tree. The boy’s stomach was in pain after the two small meals of the day. His uncle did not reach for the provisions bag and the boy assumed that no relief would be given to him this evening. He took a sip from his waterskin and sighed.
“We’ll stop in the next town for a pan and some flint,” Gilles reassured with a couple pats to Valentin’s shoulder. “I’ll even treat you to some smoked fish. It’s the specialty of Girro. After that, we make our way north for a few days. Then it will all be over.”
The following morning brought little. A dense fog from the bay penetrated the forest, leaving the trees as ominous shapes in the periphery. A thin layer of moisture accumulated on Valentin’s face and he attempted to dry it with his sleeve. His stomach rattled in a dull pain. Fortunately it was not as severe as the hunger pains he endured the evening before.
Trees morphed into hovels as the outskirts of the town snuck up on the pair of humans and the horse. Ghostly buildings came in and out of view as they traveled up the incline. The mud and dirt that they had been traversing made way for stone that clacked with every step that Marigold took.
Gilles had the pair dismount. “This terrain is bad for her to be overladen on. We will take this next part on foot.”
Eventually the elevation brought clarity and the travelers found themselves deep within the town. The wall that separated the regions of d’Gauval and Cortel was carved out of the mountain stone and met with a steep cliff that tumbled into the sea. There was a town on either side of the barrier that was used primarily to garrison the troops that watched their neighbor closely. Due to the topography of the region, there was only one avenue for attack and therefore the two regions shared the defensive structure and each managed one half. Even the small hovels that lined the street appeared to be carved from the mountain itself.
There was an ethereal feeling within the town in the foggy morning as though it sat above the higher plane itself. The town by nature of the thin strip of land that it occupied was similarly skinny and drawn out. The waters below were obscured by the fogbank giving off the uneasy impression that a tumble off the side would lead to oblivion.
Valentin watched a man approach the edge of the cliff and take a step downwards. The boy winced as the man took the extremely narrow path down the cliff face to the beach below.
“Since they can’t grow much, most of the town’s food comes from the sea,” explained Gilles, his eyes following the object of the boy’s attention.
The modest marketplace occupied the strip between the residences of the town and the barracks. A few people milled around different shops but the activity paled in comparison to even the slowest day in Roucotte.
An elderly shopkeeper managed an open storefront that sat in front of the lone blacksmith in town. Loud clangs of new works being created inside attracted Gilles to the location. Unlike the weapon and armor smiths that excite Valentin, this blacksmith created more practical items for everyday use. Molded iron tools, horseshoes, and cookware hung from wooden pegs in the storefront.
Seeing Gilles approach, the old man straightened up and stretched a courteous smile across his weathered face.
“Welcome gentlemen. Welcome to our humble store,” the shopkeeper greeted eagerly, the prospect of coin returning an unknown spryness back into his withered body. “How may I serve you on this fine morning?”
“I need a pot,” Gilles replied quickly, dismounting Marigold and stepping up the opening of the shop. “One that is large enough to put two meals’ worth of ingredients inside. I do not have any preferences beyond that.”
“I have a few that could fit your needs,” the shopkeeper replied.
Slowly and methodically, the shopkeeper found every piece of cookware that remotely fit the description. Sounds of metal clinking together were barely audible over the banging in the building behind him. Gilles demands, intended to hasten the process, rapidly turned into a lethargic and drawn out affair.
Valentin could see his uncle quickly grow impatient in the face of the old man’s torpid movements. His feet tapped aggressively, thudding off the rocks and kicking up plumes of dust. When Gilles turned from the shopkeeper, Valentin could see uncharacteristic frustration on his face. The corners of his mouth quivered as he debated whether or not he should say something to speed up the process.
“That one is fine,” Gilles announced, pointing to a pot that was sat somewhere out of Valentin’s view.
“I must protest a hasty selection, you cannot rush these things,” the shopkeeper replied with a cordial tone. “You will find that there is a perfect item here for your needs. If not, we can always create a custom piece for you.
Gilles bit his lip to prevent the venomous words brewing within him to be released in front of his nephew. He began to pace back and forth, constantly checking the road that they came from. However, few people and no horses emerged from the fog. He took a few deep breathes and returned to the opening.
“Is there another blacksmith on the Cortel side of Girro?” Gilles asked with as much kindness as he could muster.
“No, no,” the shopkeeper muttered. “We are the only blacksmith available. The Cortel clan has always invested very little in this area. Their only forge is for repairs. It wouldn’t serve you well at all.”
“How fortunate for you,” Gilles replied tersely.
“We feel blessed every day,” the shopkeeper replied amicably, either fully oblivious or choosing to ignore his client’s frustration.
Gilles was at the complete mercy of this slow merchant; what was only a few minutes at most felt like precious hours for the alert Gilles. It was only when he resigned himself to the wait that things seemed to move more quickly.
“I would recommend either of these pots,” the shopkeeper stated confidently. “You will not regret either of these choices.”
“I’ll choose this one then,” Gilles replied, appearing to choose the pot arbitrarily.
After a few more words and an exchange of coins, Gilles returned to the horse with his pot in tow. A vexed look settled upon his face at the excruciating encounter. He sighed loudly as he fastened his brand new iron pot to the saddle. Now that Valentin had the opportunity to look at it, there was nothing special about the pot. He understood his uncle’s frustration far better now that he set his eyes upon it.
“Thank the Mother that’s over,” Gilles muttered to himself. “We need to get going, I’d like to reach the southern reaches of the Jerv Forest by nightfall.”
Just as Gilles was about to mount Marigold, a loud rumbling reverberated from Valentin’s stomach. A gnashing pain of days without much food made the boy double over briefly. Seeing Gilles’ concerned expression, Valentin gave his uncle a sheepish look and turned his face away.
“I’m hungry, Uncle Gilles,” Valentin admitted, finding it pointless to deny.
“I know, Valentin. I know,” Gilles replied gently. “You’ve been doing your best under a difficult situation. We will have a better meal tonight, a hot meal.”
“Could we get a meat pie before we leave?” Valentin meekly suggested.
“You’ll have to wait until tonight,” Gilles replied apologetically.
“I can’t,” Valentin rejected more firmly. “I have eaten nothing but sparse meals of bread and raw vegetables for days. Have we not made enough time that we can buy some decent food from a stand and be on our way?”
Gilles looked back towards the foggy path. A handful of villagers ambled by harmlessly. He sighed, shaking his head.
“We will get food and you will eat it on the ride,” Gilles assented to Valentin’s delight. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, Uncle Gilles, I can do that,” Valentin agreed enthusiastically.
“Excuse me!” Gilles reluctantly called towards the old man. “Do you know where on the Cortel side of Girro that we can get a hot meal quickly?”
“Oh, well you want the place right over there,” the shopkeeper suggested and pointed to a building on the d’Gauval side of Girro. “The place on the Cortel side does not open until after zenith. Also, their cadeau mer is far too salty and lacks true richness as the sauces served here. Nothing like the d’Gauval variety, a man like you would only be disappointed-“
“Alright, we’ll go there,” Gilles replied with a tone of exasperation. He grabbed Marigold’s reins and led the horse towards the tavern.